


Between the Pages

by GranolaSuite



Category: British Actor RPF, British Comedy RPF, RPF - Fandom, Real Person Fiction, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom, hiddlestoners
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Librarians, Romance, romcom, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-19 17:44:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5975743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GranolaSuite/pseuds/GranolaSuite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trapped in a long dead marriage, Michelle Carline works in a northern London library. She spends her days checking and filing, one book at a time. <br/>When a local resident comes searching for a particular title, he piques her interest, and she his. </p>
<p>Will she be able to break free from the shackles of her daily life, and allow herself the happiness deserves?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aisle See You There

“Can you come in Saturday morning?”

I looked across the desk to Lily, the resident hypochondriac. “Yeah, of course.”

“Just… I’ve got this pain, and I’m not sure what it is.”

“Should go get it checked,” I offered.

“First appointment was Saturday.”

“Ten ‘til two?”

“Please?”

I nodded. “No problem.”

“Thank you so much.”

The returns trolley heaved as I pushed it through the stacks, mumbling about Dewey and his decimal system as I went. Saving the non-fiction for last, I went through the children’s books, then into young adult, adult fiction and, finally, into the non-fiction.

“Melvil, you cheeky, cheeky man,” I grumbled, working my way through the sciences and into the arts.

“I’m sure he’d be thoroughly pleased to hear you say that.”

I pulled the book back out of the shelf, a devilish smile pulling at the corners of two lovely blue eyes.

“I’m sure he’s spinning in his grave so quickly that there would be an audible hum if you got too close to the tombstone,” I offered, placing the book back in its correct, Dewey-approved space.

A high-pitched giggle, infectious and utterly hilarious, followed me as I moved down the aisle.

“Miss, I’m wondering, could I have some help, please?”

“Of course you can,” I answered. “What’s your poison?”

“Normally one would say a fine red wine on a cold winter’s night.”

I snorted. “Of course.”

“But today, I think I need a book.”

“Any particular book?”

“Oh, yes, very specific.”

I smiled. “How specific?”

“The Night Manager.”

“John Le Carre?”

“On point, very impressive.”

“Not one on the shelf? Have you checked?”

“I have,” he answered. “None at this branch.”

“Okay, give me a second. If you like, I can call around another branch and get it brought over, or you can pick it up from there?”

“Sure, that’d be great.”

My new friend emerged from his aisle, and followed me to the borrowing counter. He drummed his fingers on the counter, a beat that only he knew, and rocked on the heels of his feet.

“How’s your day so far?”

My eyes darted up to his. “It’s been okay, yours?”

“Good.” He nodded. “Very good. Be much better if I can track down this book.”

A part of me wondered why people didn’t just buy books; they weren’t that expensive, really. Maybe a few pounds if you managed a Tesco special. Then again, if they didn’t come into my library I’d be out of a job, so I can’t complain too much.

“Well, my friend, we have a copy down at Barking. Would you like to pick it up from there, or would you like me to have it sent across for you?”

“Oh, definitely sent across. I’ve got a few things on this afternoon, and tomorrow, I’m afraid I won’t have a chance to get out there.”

“Sure.” I caught his gaze. “Membership card?”

“Oh… of course… yes.” He bumbled around, patting down his pockets until he came across his wallet. “It’s been a while.”

If only he knew.

“Is it cold out?” I struggled for conversation.

“It is a little, yes,” he agreed, unconsciously tugging at the scarf around his neck. “Shame this little flat cap doesn’t cover the ears; else they’d be a bit warmer.”

Lily sauntered over, doing her best to interject despite the fact that a small queue was starting to form behind my customer.

“How are you today?” she smiled, leering over my shoulder to read the computer. “John Le Carre, excellent choice.”

“Could… could you maybe help out with the queue?” I looked at Lily.

“When’s the copy due in at the library?” She flashed me a ridiculously patronising smile.

“Saturday, I think. Maybe. Depends.”

“I’ll be in then.”

“Oh, I thought you needed me…” I handed the gentleman back his membership card.

“No, don’t be silly. I’m feeling so much better.”

I frowned, confused, and looked at my customer. “Saturday morning, but maybe call us to save you the trouble of wasting time.”

His eyes darted across to Lily and back to me. “And when are you working next?”

“Me?” I laughed, nervously. “It was supposed to be Saturday, but Monday now.”

“And it will definitely be here on Monday?”

I nodded. “Definitely by Monday.”

“Well I… will… see you Monday, then.” He folded his wallet and shoved it into his pants.

“See you later. Thank you for visiting today.”

“No, thank you, Michelle, you’ve been a wonderful help. Have a great weekend.”

“Would you like me to call you Monday morning and confirm?” I offered, without so much as a second thought.

“Actually,” he smiled, “I would love that.”

I felt myself blush at a rate of knots. “Okay. I’ll do that.”

“Thank you, again.”

“You’re welcome,” I glanced at the screen, looking for his name, “Tom.”

I watched him depart, low slung jeans, lace up boots that looked like they hadn’t been laced in a while, a t-shirt, jumper, jacket, scarf, and flat cap. It was definitely cold out.

“Well, that was a nice start to the day.” Lily smiled and walked away, leaving me to deal with the growing queue.

“He was lovely," I muttered. 

“You have no idea, do you?” A young girl looked at me.

“No, but I have an idea I’m about to find out.”


	2. Chapter 2

I stacked the last of the pots into the dishwasher, closed the door, and hit the start button. It whooshed to life as the insides were flooded with boiling water, ready to wash the filth away. I sighed, thinking real life was rarely that simple.

Walking past the couch toward the bedroom, I found a filthy bowl tucked under the lip of the couch where Rupert sat.

“Rupe, are you serious?” I held the bowl out.

“What?” He emerged from the bedroom at the top of the stairs with a toothbrush in his mouth, foam at the edge of his lips.

“Filthy bowl?”

“You didn’t tell me you were cleaning.” He shrugged.

“You couldn’t hear me stacking the dishwasher?”

“You didn’t tell me -.”

“Forget it.”

He stared at me as I dropped the bowl in the sink, and returned to the bedroom. I cleaned up some wet towels and random clothes on the floor, dirty boots with mud crusted up on the sides, and a grubby razor.

Rupert was asleep by the time I got to bed all of ten minutes later. A book I’d been attempting to read for the last month sat on the bedside table, and I picked it up again, and got ten pages in before the snoring began.

I retreated to the couch downstairs, put some earplugs in, set the alarm on my phone and tried to sleep.

**

“How was your night last night?” Lily unlocked the front doors and I followed her into the library. Funnily enough, we had to lock the doors behind us again. We weren’t going to be able to hold back the onslaught of customers single-handedly.

“Good.” I nodded. “Same, same, really. You? Did that guy come back for his book on Saturday?”

“Tom? No, I’ll call him this morning,” she offered.

“Oh, no, that’s okay, I said I’d call him. I took his number down.”

“I said it’s fine, I’ll do it.”

“Sure.” I dropped my bag behind the counter and tucked it into a locked drawer.

Tom walked into the library a little after eleven a.m., wrapped up against the rain, a takeaway coffee cup in each hand. I spotted him from the opposite end of the library, behind the stacks, where I was putting away some books.

Lily raced over to him so quickly she tripped. It was perfect; slow motion, hair trailing behind her like a bad-taste shampoo commercial, and a snapped heel. Like a hessian sack full of potatoes. Tom’s face was deadpan, and his head darted around the library, before he thought better of laughing, placed the coffee cups down, and helped Lily to her feet.

“It’s fine, it’s okay.” She smoothed herself out. “Thank you, Tom.”

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Good. Great. How are you?” She tossed some hair behind her shoulder.

“Is Michelle around?”

“I’ve got your book here.”

“That’s okay, is Michelle here?”

“Down the back.” She skulked off behind the repairs counter.

I hid behind a stack and watched Tom walk toward me. I hadn’t put much thought into him over the weekend… except for maybe all day Saturday and all day Sunday, and all night Sunday night when I couldn’t sleep.

“I can actually see you,” he teased, “as much as you look like you want to be invisible.”

My chin dropped into my chest and I laughed. “Good morning.”

“How are you?” He slinked through the last few steps toward me. “Do you drink coffee?”

“While I’m working, sure.” I accepted the cup from him.

“White and two?”

“White and one, but that’s perfectly fine, thank you.”

“So, you lucked out on the Saturday shift, if I remember correctly?”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t even get me started. She was dying of cancer three minutes before you turned up.”

“I must learn how to harness those magical healing powers, then.” He smiled, tongue in cheek.

“How was your weekend?” I asked.

“Good, quiet, but good. Yours?”

“So so.” I shrugged. “Could’ve done with some red wine.”

“You know, I think that’s what mine was missing as well.”

“Do you want your book?”

“About that… your crazy mate called? I was looking forward to you calling.”

“Yeah, well, she can’t be told.”

“I kind of got that impression.”

“If I’m lucky, she might get the plague yet.”

Tom laughed, and loudly. “You work with her all the time?”

“No, thankfully. Only two days a week.”

“Maybe, then, I might grab that book from you, and come back later this week to ask for help with another one.”

“I’d like that,” I agreed.

“Pop Quiz.” Tom snapped his fingers. “Favourite book?”

“You’re going to make me pick? That’s hardly fair.”

“I’ve kind of got you pegged as a Jane Austen girl.”

“Really?”

“Am I wrong?” He circled me as I started back on some books.

“Not entirely.”

“A bit of old fashioned romance?”

“Wouldn’t hurt.” I looked up at him.

“Persuasion?”

“Hmmm.”

“Pride and Prejudice?”

“Mr. Darcy.” I smiled. “Yes. You?”

“Me? I’m not Mr. Darcy.”

“No, your favourite books?”

“Anna Karenina… Any Human Heart.”

I nodded and pulled a pen from my hair. “Let me write them down.” I patted myself down to look for paper.

“Here, here, I’ve got a bit of a notepad here.” He pulled a card from his pocket. “There.”

“Thank you.” I scribbled quickly and replaced the pen.

“I’ll give you ‘til Thursday for Anna Karenina. Then we’ll do a pop quiz.” Tom tapped his head and walked away, backward.

“Goodbye.” I smiled.

“Actually. My book,” he remembered. “Can I please have my book?”

“Of course.”

A few taps of the keyboard and I’d brought up his user details again, scanned his book, and sent him on his way.

“See you later.”

“Goodbye, Tom.”


	3. Chapter 3

“What on Earth has you so fascinated?” Mum leant forward in her chair, flicking at the cover of my book.

“Anna Karenina,” I mumbled. “It’s good.”

“Always with her head in a book.” Rupert kissed the top of my head and sat down next to me. “Think we could steal your attention for a while?”

“Just… end… of… this… chapter,” I answered, my brain anywhere but in the living room of my parents’ house.

Rupert looked at me, his face expressionless. My eyes zipped up to him and back to the book.

“What?” I asked.

“No, nothing,” he shook his head.

“So, you two having kids anytime soon?” Patrick, my brother, threw himself onto a beanbag.

“Nope.” Rupert answered.

**

“Rupe, what was that about?” I pulled the duvet down the bed.

“What was what about?” He pulled his shirt over his head.

“Are we having kids?” I frowned. “I’m glad you asked me before you answered for everyone.”

“You seem to have forgotten we can’t have kids.”

“You don’t even want to talk about the options?” I could feel my throat swell shut long before the end of the sentence.

“I thought we’d had this discussion over, and over, and over again?” he argued.

“It’s not exactly a discussion when you make the decision for us,” I answered.

“What do you want from me?” he yelled.

“Some kind of decision would be nice!”

“What do you want from me when you swing like a pendulum?”

“I swing like a pendulum?” I shrieked. “You’re unbelievable.” I snatched a pillow up and retreated to the couch. Again.

**

I tried wrapping my jacket around me as far as it would go. The lip of the roof providing only just enough cover from the rain. It came through on a slant, so my ankles and feet were still damp by the time Emmy showed up with the keys. Em was amazing, and did the Tuesday to Thursday shift.

“I need a set of keys.” My teeth chattered.

“I’ll talk to the boss, I don’t know why you don’t have keys already.” She reefed the door open and I scuttled inside after her, shaking off my jacket and running for the hand drier in the toilet.

“Are you okay?” Emmy asked. “You look exhausted.”

“I’m okay,” I answered quietly. “Just some shit.”

“Rupert shit?”

“Yeah,” I sighed. “Round and round the garden, like a teddy bear.”

“That’s not funny,” she deadpanned. “Are you okay?”

“Just a rough patch. It’ll be okay, everyone has them, right?”

“Right.” She shoved a coffee cup at me. “Besides your dick of a husband -.”

“Well, he does have one of them,” I chuckled.

Emmy laughed. “Talk to me about books. What’d you bring back today?”

Emmy was gorgeous. Buddy author, a friendly ear, and a warm, beautiful personality. There just wasn’t anything she could do wrong. And her husband, William, he was to die for. He was an absolute riot of a person to be around; funny, charming, and he doted on her completely.

“Anna Karenina,” I offered. “A customer recommended it to me the other day. Says he’s coming back in for a pop quiz today.”

“In the wise words of John Travolta… tell me more, tell me more.”

**

Emmy raced across the library, grabbed my hand, and dragged me back toward the loans counter.

“What?” I asked.

“Come here.”

“What?”

“Here, here, here, here, here,” she gibbered.

“What?” I hissed.

“Flat cap and scarf, between Dewey’s magical 100’s and 200’s.”

“Oh Jesus, that’s him.”

“Get the fuck out.”

“What?” I asked.

“That’s Pop Quiz?”

I nodded.

“You’re fucking kidding?”

I shook my head. “No, why?”

“That’s… Jesus.”

“His name isn’t Jesus.”

“Right. Well, what I’m doing right now is sending you on break. You go on that break, you enjoy yourself, and if you’re gone for two hours, then I’m not going to notice.”

“What?”

“Go and Pop Quiz your heart out.” She pushed me away from the counter. “Go. Go. Gallop through the fields and meadows.”

I crept over toward the stacks, nervous energy turning my legs to jelly. “Can I help you with anything today?”

Tom turned and smiled. “Hey there, Michelle. How are you?”

“Good, you? How’s your week been?” I wrung my hands nervously, my lack of wedding ring burning circles around my ring finger. 

“Busy! Are you busy right now?”

“I’ve just been told to go on break,” I offered.

“Are you hungry? Have you eaten?”

I shook my head, embarrassed. As much as I loved the idea of lunch with him, there’s no way I’d ever ask him. “Not yet, not.”

“Keen to eat with me, then?”

My eyes popped. “You?”

“Or not?” It was his turn to be nervous.

“No, no, of course, of course, I just wasn’t going to ask.”

“Why not?” He smiled.

“I just figured…”

“You figured wrong,” he offered. “Have you got a coat? Do you need mine?”

“I’ll go get my coat.” I turned and walked right into a stack. “When my inner GPS works.” I shuffled off nervously.


	4. Chapter 4

I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was doing something wrong. I knew deep down that I was doing absolutely nothing wrong, lunch with a potential new friend, but I still had that niggling feeling in the pit of my stomach. Kind of like when the police pull you over, and you know you’ve done nothing wrong, but you still panic anyway.

“You okay?” Tom held an umbrella up for me.

“All good.” I scuttled over to his side as we rushed into a café with a handful of other lunchtime shoppers.

He shook the umbrella out and joined me inside, knowing looks falling upon the both of us. I shook the menu in front of my face.

“Really good toasties here,” I suggested.

“I love a girl that low-brow,” he teased, snatching the menu. “Let’s see. Black pudding and bacon.”

“Yum.”

“You are a sick, sick woman,” he giggled.

“It’s nice!” I laughed.

“I’d rather have a Nutella and banana toastie.”

“That’s dessert.”

“Are we going mains and dessert?”

“I’m not fussed.” I lurched forward as someone shoved me in the back.

“Hey.” Tom frowned. “Come on.”

We got a mumbled apology and joined the queue.

“Have you ever tried black pudding?” I asked.

“Yes. And no. Yuck.”

“Haggis?”

“Vom.” He shoved two fingers in his throat.

I laughed. “I’ll have to find you a nice one somewhere. Neeps, tatties, a bit of scotch. Beautiful.”

“Lots of scotch is good.”

“Gosh, tell me about it.” I took a deep breath and rattled off my order to the attendant behind the counter.

**

“Anna Karenina.” Tom looked at me. “Your thoughts?”

“Gorgeous.” I took a bite of my toastie. “Are we headed anywhere in particular?”

“No, just thought we’d walk.”

“So, would you go into exile? Or would you use discretion?”

He smiled. “Right now? I’d pick exile. I don’t have a kid to worry about, so I could very easily go into exile.”

“Me, too.”

“How’s your horrid sandwich?”

“My horrid sandwich is so far from horrid it’s not funny.”

“Mine is quite tasty.”

“Try mine.”

“No.”

“Come on.” I held the sandwich to his face.

“No, thank you.”

“Do it.”

“No,” he laughed.

“Fine, fine. You’ll never know the goodness,” I teased.

“I think I can live without that goodness.”

“The Night Manager. What’s your story?”

“Role research.”

“No shit?” I smiled. “That’s great.”

“What, you’ve read it?”

“I have. I’d love to see a film version.”

“Telly series,” Tom offered.

“Even better.”

“So, do you love your job?”

“I think so. Keeps me out of the house, keeps me out of trouble, I think.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he teased.

“What was with the lunch invite?” I asked as we traipsed the steps of a local park.

“Hey?”

“Why’d you ask me to lunch?”

“Because you looked like you needed to get out of there. You look sad, exhausted. I just thought it would be a nice thing to do.”

I stood looking at him a moment. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had just asked me to lunch ‘because’.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked.

“No.” I shook my head. “Not at all.”

“So this lunch thing is okay?”

“It’s lovely, I appreciate it.”

“You do?”

“I really do. It’s been a long time.”

“So, if I came past again to pick up another book, would you be offended if we got toasties again?”

“I wouldn’t be offended in the slightest,” I offered.

“Now, do I need to get you back before you turn into a pumpkin?”

I smiled. “No, I’ve been told to take my sweet time and, truthfully, I’m enjoying this, so I’m in no rush.”

“You have layers.” He twirled a finger around in front of my face.

“Layers?”

“Yes, more than meets the eye with you.”

“That’s a Transformer,” I answered.

“I’ll just call you Bumblebee, then.”

“And what do I call you? Boss?”

“Boss? I wouldn’t object.”

“Well, Night Manager and all.”

“I’ll take Boss.”

“I tell you what.” I nudged Tom. “I’ll give you a Pop Quiz. Next time I see you, I want you to have read… War & Peace.”

“Do you not want to see me for six months?” he laughed.

I snorted. “Well, no, that wasn’t the plan.”

“Something shorter,” he offered.

“The Very Hungry Caterpillar,” I teased.

“That’s a good length.” He nodded with all the seriousness he could muster. “If I knock off a chapter a night, I should be right for lunch one day next week.”

I laughed loudly. “I like that plan. One chapter a night. Don’t overwork yourself, though.”

“I’ll do my best,” he offered. “And who knows, we could work up to maybe Charlotte’s Web.”

“Ease up, tiger. Mr. Men.”

“Okay, alright. Mr. Men.” He smiled. “This is your stop?”

I looked up at the library in front of us. “Unfortunately this is my stop.”

“Thank you for coming to lunch today.”

“No, thank you for the invite.” I smiled. “I actually really enjoyed it.”

“Good. Next time you might really, really enjoy it.”

“Let’s work on that.”

“Let’s.”

“Thank you, Tom.” I held out a hand and we shook.

“Thank you, Michelle.”


	5. Chapter 5

Knife, fork, knife, fork, knife, fork. Over, and over again, until places were set for dinner. My parents and brother, Jimmy, were around for dinner.

“How’re you going?” Jimmy walked through the kitchen, a six-pack of beer balanced precariously in the fridge.

I nodded. “Okay.”

“Just okay?” He cracked one and leant against the kitchen sink. “Want one?”

“Sure.” I took the one he’d already opened while he got a second for himself.

“How are things with…”

“I don’t really want to talk about it.” I shook my head. “It’s just… a phase.”

“Is it?”

I nodded.

“You know, I’m happy to help if you need it,” he whispered.

“I’ll keep that in mind, thank you.”

**

“This is really lovely.” Rupert reached across the table and clasped my hand. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I answered.

“It is, it’s brilliant.” Dad smiled. “But you’ve always been the cook.”

“Hardly.” I smiled.

“Of course you have.” Rupert smiled.

I watched as he put on The Happy Show throughout dinner, and the rest of the night. He curled an arm around my shoulders and pulled me into him. For once, it was nice, and I sank into him and went to sleep.

“Hey.” Rupert nudged me later in the night.

“What?” I grumbled.

“I want to talk to you.”

I rubbed my eyes and pulled back enough to focus on Rupert. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“No?” I wriggled around and rested my cheek on the back of the couch, sitting side on.

“I want to talk to you about us.”

“Okay.”

“I’m sick of fighting.”

I didn’t say anything.

“I want to fix this. Can we do that?”

I nodded, not sure that my heart was in it. “Sure.”

**

I leant across the table, clutching my coffee cup. Emmy was busy wrangling her daughter, barely three months old, and William was racing around the house trying to help with the pile of washing that had accumulated during the week. He was a head full of ginger hair, sideburns, and the most beautiful blue eyes you’ve ever seen on anyone.

“So.” She smiled. “What are you going to do?”

“Going to do?” I baulked. “I’m married.”

“Not happily.”

“Not always, no,” I agreed. “But, still.”

“He’s chasing you.”

“He is not.” I shook my head, inspecting the contents of my coffee cup.

“He totally is.”

“He is!” William called. “He wants you bad.”

“William, go away,” Emmy laughed.

“I’m about to go into work, and I’m busy trying to help you with your housework. Please be nice, show me some love.” He swanned into the kitchen and demanded a kiss. “Love you, and you Princess Lula.”

“Don’t tell her she’s a princess, she’ll grow up believing it.”

“She’s _my_ princess,” William argued. “Can you call me if you need anything from the shops on the way home?”

“Of course. What time do you think you’ll be done?”

“Probably not until eleven tonight.”

“I’ll see you then.” She kissed him again. “Love you.”

“Love you,” he answered. “See you ladies soon. Bye Shell.”

“Bye.” I watched as he bowed out of the room, blowing kisses and dancing around like a court jester.

“He’s such a clown.” Emmy shook her head. “Brilliant doctor, completely cracked, though.”

“He’s gorgeous.”

“That’s what you should have.”

“Yeah, I know,” I agreed. “Rupe says he wants to fix things.”

“It’s a good start. Do you think it’ll work?”

“Meh. Maybe. I can’t deny him, can I?”

“Well, you can. You can just up and leave.”

“I can’t just up and leave. I need to give at least some time to come good.”

“That’s up to you. You know my thoughts, but I’m not going to push you in either direction. I’ll hold your hand either way.”

I loved her. Absolutely loved her. “Thank you.”

“So, when are you going to see him next?”


	6. Chapter 6

@@@

Before I got to see Tom again, I found myself in a therapist’s office in East London. I looked around the room, like a child in a lolly shop for the first time, and took everything in. It appeared to be an all-in type set up. Pamphlets lined the walls about pre-marriage counselling, family planning, pregnancy, birth, breastfeeding, raising toddlers, children, teenagers, families, and family counselling.

Our counsellor, a married woman in her thirties, sat through a series of questions. Why were we there? What benefit do we think we’d get from it? What are our expectations? Does anyone have any issues they’d like to bring up?

“I would like to bring up that nothing I say or do is right,” Rupert sighed heavily.

“So, constant criticism?”

A stifled giggle became a laugh. “That’s insane.”

“Why insane?”

“I don’t ask anything of you but common sense and decency. You refuse to clean up after yourself, you criticise me when things aren’t cleaned properly, and then expect me to smile at the end of the day.”

Rupert fell over his words, a series of grunts and incoherent mumbles tumbling forward. “I help.”

“Do you have defined roles in the house?”

“You mean where I do everything and he does nothing?”

“Well, let’s run through some things, shall we?”

I found the back and forth all but useless. There was no communication, it was a series of constant attacks, back and forth, and I stormed out of the office an hour later wanting to be anywhere but near him.

“Shellie, can you just wait for me?”

Rupert skipped down the street as I thundered on forward, jacket wrapped around me, bottom lip trembling and eyes stinging. He pulled me to a stop with a tight hand around my upper arm.

“Michelle, enough.”

“Why enough?” I turned to face him. “Why, Rupert? So you can tell me all the things I do wrong? How unhappy I make you because I want you to grow the hell up?”

“You don’t make me unhappy,” he pleaded. “We’re just… in a rut, we’ll dig ourselves out of it.”

“I’ve already worked out how I’m digging myself out of it.”

“How?”

“I want a divorce.

**

“I’ve been a very bad boy,” Tom pouted.

I didn’t need a mirror, I could feel the beetroot coloured embarrassment snaking up my neck and onto my face.

“I’m sorry… what?” I fumbled about and took the book from him.

“Good morning.” He smiled.

“Hello.”

“It is late, that part’s true.”

I brought up the book details on the computer. “A whole day, Mr. H. I’m afraid that will cost you an entire fifty pence.”

“Will you wave it if I take you to lunch?”

I smiled. “Let me think about that one for a second.”

“Meet you here at… one, then?”

“Ten to one.”

He left with little more than a curt wave, and a resonating yelp as he ran into the glass doors.

**

Recliner seats in the local park proved a nice, relaxing spot for lunch. A quick stop at a chain coffee store saw us with premade sandwiches and, well, coffee. We were long past the hellos, how are you’s, and cheap talk about the weather. This week it was time to talk about Tom’s job.

“I’m going away for a few weeks for filming,” he offered. “Overseas, and then back here for a bit, up north.”

“A holiday would be nice.” I rolled my head around too look at him.

“I’ve had too much of one, I’m looking forward to working again.”

“When you come back I should put you to use in the library.”

“Maybe I’ll write a movie about a lady that works in a library.”

“Is she completely insane and recently told her husband she wants a divorce?”

“Way to slip that nugget in.” Tom sat up straight and looked at me.

I smiled.

“Did you really?” he asked.

I nodded. “I’ve had enough.”

“Define enough.”

I shook my head. “No. I’m not going down that path.”

“What path is that?”

“The woe is me victim complex. I can’t stand people like that. I’m going to move out later this week.”

“Were I still here, I’d help you.”

“Were you still here I’d say no thank you,” I teased.

“Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m going to move back in with my parents.”

“That’s sexy,” he joked.

“This script you’re going to write, about the librarian.”

“Oh, she’s completely crazy,” he laughed. “Works with a hypochondriac that tries to cut her grass.”

I laughed loudly. “I didn’t think you’d spent that much time with her.”

“I hadn’t. She called me about two days ago to tell me a book had arrived for me. Only problem was, I hadn’t actually put any on hold. The conversation soon descended into chaos and anarchy.”

“What’d you tell her?”

“I told her I had a girlfriend, of course.”

“That’ll be a nice bit of scandal.”

“Are you sure there’s nothing you need?”

“Of course. I’ll be fine. I’m a big girl.”

“That’s the spirit.” He held his hand out and gave mine a gentle shake.

“You have to make this librarian completely crazy.”

“Crazy? I thought you librarians were kinky?” He flashed me the most serious look he could muster.

“That’s rich,” I scoffed. “Mr. I’ve been a very bad boy.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

I picked through the last of the kitchen accessories and closed the lid on the cardboard box. I’d managed to rustle up a few from the local hardware stop, and they were currently in the process of being recycled. Move four boxes of belongings to Mum & Dad’s, empty boxes out, repeat process. It was the slow option, but it was working, and I’d almost done.

Completely on my own.

“Did you make sure you got absolutely everything?” Mum fussed over the last box as I dropped it on the kitchen table.

“I got what I needed. Everything else is replaceable.”

“You should have taken everything,” she muttered.

“No, I think the rusty cake tins have had it anyway. I’ll get new ones, thanks.”

“Have you thought about accommodation yet?” Dad breezed through the kitchen and onward to the backyard.

“Not yet. I’ll get looking Monday.”

“Or, you know, when things settle down.” Mum patted my arm.

Things settled in fits and spurts. Three good days, one bad day, two great days, one mediocre day, until all days settled into the fairly decent routine. Almost like watching a dying person flat line, really. Peaks and troughs, and then… nothing.

**

“Hey!” Lily nudged me.

“Hey what?” I asked.

“You okay? I’ve been talking to you for ages now.”

“Yeah, fine.” I frowned like I had no idea what she was talking about, and I didn’t, really.

“Your mate’s here.” She waved a single finger in the direction of adult fiction.

It’d been about five weeks since I’d seen Tom. He’d been out of town, but not out of my thoughts. I wondered often what he was up to, how he was, and whether he thought of me, or whether or not I was just imagining it all. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder. I was sure the same applied to ridiculous crushes on people you could never have.

One foot in front of the other and I made my way over to where he had his nose buried in a book.

“It’s a good one,” I whispered.

“Shhh, don’t you know this is a library?” he teased.

“Yes sir, sorry sir.”

“That’s more like it.” He slipped an arm around my shoulder and pulled me in for a hug, offering a light kiss to my cheek. “How are you?”

“Good.” I nodded. “Doing okay. How about you? How was your time away?”

“Busy,” he agreed. “Glad to be home and looking for something to read for a month or so.”

“Good.” I smiled. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise,” he answered, watching me push my returns trolley back through to the next aisle.

There was something strangely different about him that day, and I think it had more to do with me than with anything in particular he’d done. His hair still sat in tight blonde curls, his eyes were still an ocean of blue, and he still wore the same style of clothes he’d always worm, drill pants, a shirt, a jacket, a scarf if it was cold enough, and his little satchel bag swinging from his shoulder. Yet, there it was… a difference.

“Are you keen for lunch today?” He was standing before me before I even had chance to register, lost in my thoughts. I felt myself flush, sure the temperature in the room hadn’t just risen ten degrees.

I smiled. “Yes, please, thank you.”

“I’ve got a few more errands to run, shall I collect you in, say, an hour?”

“An hour sounds great,” I squeaked. “Sure, thank you.”

“See you then.” He turned on his heel and walked away, opting for the self-serve checkout.

“Hey!” I called after him.

“What?” he asked.

“My shout today.”

“Sure thing.”


	8. Chapter 8

Our same old, trusty park bench served as our backdrop for lunch. The same sandwiches, and same burnt, shitty coffee that sat in cardboard non-biodegradable cups on either side of us.   
“So, you okay?” Tom opened with the light stuff.   
“You know what, I really am.” I nodded. “I feel like the air is a bit cleaner now. “I mean, it sucks living with my parents again, because what time are you going to be home, but otherwise it’s okay.”   
“Not having any trouble with the rest of it?”  
I shrugged. “I’m sure it’s progressing normally. Lots of passive aggressive, lots of snide comments.” I waved a hand. “But, anyway, let’s talk about you. How was the trip away?”  
“Well, work, so busy, and are you sure you don’t want to talk about things? Getting them out is good?”  
“Honestly? Not what I want to spend lunch time rehashing. I want to catch up with my friend.”   
Tom smiled. “I’m glad you consider me a friend.”   
“Well, you are, aren’t you?” I was convinced we were about to have that weird ‘friends’ talk about how we’re both such lovely people, and that’s all it can ever be, but it didn’t eventuate.   
“So, filming was lovely. Busy, crazy busy, long days, short nights, not enough sleep. I tell you the single best feeling was standing under my own showerhead last night and feeling the hot water pour down my naked self, having a decent wash, and popping straight into a warm bed with clean sheets. You know when your body just moulds to your mattress.”  
Mental image alert! I was sure I was having an internal error of some description.   
“Can I read the script?”  
Tom’s brow knitted. “Sorry?”   
“The series you’ve just filmed. Can I read the script?”  
“Sure.” He nodded. “Absolutely.”   
“Great.”  
Silence. Wide and deafening as it engulfed the park. I think the only creatures that didn’t get the memo were the seagulls screeching overhead.   
“Listen, Shell.”  
Craptastic, he’s given me a nickname, I thought.   
“Tom.”  
“Do you want to get dinner?”  
“Yes.”  
“I mean, I know you’re still going through a lot of stuff, I just think it would be,” he stopped. “Did you say yes?”  
I nodded. “Yes.”   
“Right. Good. Okay.” He smiled. “Excellent stuff.”   
“And you’re right, I am going through a lot of stuff, but it would be nice to get out of the house, have some adult company, and some decent discussion.”   
Tom looked pensive for a moment, dates, times, appointments rolling around in his head. “I’m home for the next few weeks. Would you like to catch up during that time?”  
So, not urgent, then. Got it. “That’d be great.”  
“Okay, well, I’ll check the diary and call you.”  
“Do you have my number?” I asked.   
“No, can I please?”   
We did the standard phone number swap before silence descended again. We’d slipping into this weird stage of the friendship. I was of the opinion that it was too soon for me to try jumping straight into anything, but dinner would be a good litmus test. Surely?


	9. Chapter 9

“I’ll pick you up from your place,” Tom offered.

“Oh, shit no,” I whispered down the line. “You don’t have to do that.”

“What? Why not? It’s a date, right?”

“It is?” my voice raised an octave.

“Is that a problem?”

“No, no, no, no, not at all,” I assured him. “Just… my parents.”

“What about them?”

“They live here.”

“I know that,” his laugh danced down the phone line.

“I just don’t know how I will explain it.”

“My best piece of advice is that you are a single lady, all Beyonce-like, and I am a single man, and we are going out to dinner.”

“But you’re…”

“Tom, yes I know,” he deadpanned. “Tom is an okay kind of guy that like long walks on the beach, buying his own groceries, world peace, and pulling his own p-.”

“No, stop there, stop it right there.” On no planet in the solar system did I need that image right now.

“I was going to say pants, Shell.”

“Of course you were.”

“So, tomorrow night, I will pick you up, and we can go do whatever. Pub and pints, restaurant and rigor, movie and mutterings.”

“You’re quite the lyricist.”

“I do try.”

**

Dad was pacing back and forth across the width of the lounge, his eyes darting back and forth to the path outside. Watching, waiting with baited breath. Mum was in her chair knitting, giving out the air of caring, sharing motherly figure, which I stood in front of the bathroom mirror and rearranged my hair for the tenth time in as many minutes.

God, what the hell was I even supposed to do? It had been years since I’d been on a date. I wouldn’t have known the first thing to do. What even happens anymore? I mean, I know the three date rule, but… is that still even a thing?

“Michelle!” Dad called, bounding for the front door and pulling it open so fast I thought it would fly off its hinges and roll down the hallway.

I could just see Tom from where I stood in the bathroom, door open with only the tiniest sliver. He was all clean hair, smart casual pants, a knitted pullover and a shirt underneath. I couldn’t hear much of the discussion, mumbled greetings and hand shakes before Tom stepped inside the front door nervously, hands wiped on the backside of his pants, and he was directed into the lounge.

My heart raced, and I was sure I could feel sweat starting to bead and trickle down all the parts of my body. Not what I needed right now, but it was what I got. One last check of the hair; too late to go changing anything now, and I battled my way through the too-old-about-to-collapse bathroom door, traipsed through the kitchen, and into the lounge at the front of the house. Tom stood as I entered the room.

“Hi.” I smiled.

“Michelle, hello,” he answered, again wiping his hands.

“Hello, Tom.” I could feel the prickle of embarrassment creep its way up my chest and neck, and the eyes of my parents were burning enough holes in me that I was sure I’d soon look like Swiss Cheese.

“Shall I make drinks?” Mum stood up to leave the room.

“Oh, no, we’ve got a reservation,” I winced, a quick jerking wave of the hand.

“That’s right, we do,” Tom played. “Really exclusive, too. If we’re late, table goes bye-bye.”

**

I stifled a laugh as we scattered down the footpath. “Exclusive?”

“What? I’m sure we’ll find somewhere nice to eat.” He smiled.

“Hey, did you drive?” I stopped and looked around the street.

“No, my driver bought me here.”

“Your what?” I choked.

“My driver. Mr. Oyster.” He fisted his jeans, pulling out his travel card. “Public transport for the win.”

“Did you really?”

“Of course,” he answered almost cartoonishly. “Thomas is not above taking the bus. Plus I thought it would be a nice change.”

“Well, how can I possibly argue that?”


	10. Chapter 10

I looked up at the name, painted in red and gold across an otherwise clean window. Tom stood with his hands shoved in his pockets, rocking and back and forth on the heels of his feet. He pulled his bottom lip through his teeth, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Really?” I asked.

“Are you not impressed?”

“No, it’s not that at all it’s just…” I scratched the back of my neck. “Garfunkel’s is a bit…”

“Downmarket? Not really. I mean, we aren’t exactly dressed for five-star dining, and I wanted to take you somewhere that neat casual would be accepted. No pressure, just a decent meal, some drinks, and good company in a quiet corner.” His eyes darted around my face, studying me for any reaction at all. “And you know, we have got this wonderful view of Trafalgar Square if that’s a problem.”

I shook my head, a garbled laughter escaping. “It’s not a problem at all. It’s a good surprise.”

“No pressure.” He reached out and pulled the door open, gesturing for me to enter.

I smiled. “None.”

The waitress did a double-take when she saw Tom, and it gave me a small glimpse into what this could be like if it continues. Heart-eyes and overly attentive, it was like I didn’t exist, even if he did reach behind him constantly, looking for where I’d been lagging behind.

“Shell, come here.” He held a hand out.

“… so if there’s anything at all I can get for you…” She smiled sweetly.

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you.” He nodded curtly, waiting for me to sit first, in the back of a booth. For more privacy, apparently.

A bottle of water, two glasses, and menus soon appeared in front of us.

“So, tell me a bit about yourself, Thomas.” I wriggled in my chair, trying to break the odd sense of tension that had fallen over the table.

“Well, you see, I like sunsets, romantic walks along the beach…”

“The banks of the Thames, you mean?”

“Of course.” He nodded. “I like world peace, and chocolate is totally acceptable as a gift.”

“As are tea cups and teddy bears, right?”

“Oh, absolutely. You’ve no idea,” Tom laughed and poured out a few glasses of water. “Does all this bother you?”

“Does what bother me?” I asked.

“The weird attention.”

“Eh, it’s weird, you got that part right. Interesting? Odd? Sure.”

“It’s okay, we’ll go somewhere quiet next time.”

“This is quiet.”

And it was. Silence descended, which became that strange not-quite-sure-what-to-say silence filled with sighs, hands wiped on trousers, and one-too-many sips on the lukewarm tap water.

“Okay, what’s going on?” I asked.

“What’s going on?” Tom repeated.

“Yeah, this is odd, this quiet.”

“It is rather, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is rather. We get sandwiches and we talk for hours, tonight we’re in a restaurant and we’ve not spoken a word.”

“Right, well. Shall we do what works best, then?”

I frowned.

“I mean, let’s get sandwiches, we’ll go back to my place, I’ll put some candles on the table, and it can be like normal.”

“Nah, let’s break our mould.”

“Break our mould?”

“Yeah, this is different for us, so let’s do it.”

**

“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Tom grabbed my arm and slipped it through his as we walked back toward Embankment Station.

“Besides the spilled wine, the water, the autographs, the photographs, the dropped food.” I shrugged. “All round success, I’d say.”

“Oh well, it’s not always like that,” Tom sighed. “Sometimes, not always, though.”

“It’ll be what it’ll be,” I offered. “Despite all that, I had fantastic company, so I’m happy with that.”

“Thank you.” He smiled. “I had pretty amazing company, too.”

Bicycle couriers, freedom fighters, protestors, tourists, and the usual suspects milled around the busy tourist precinct, vying for photo after photo in front of the Sherlock Holmes. Tom smiled and shook his head as we walked past.

“I’ll bet they were struggling for business four years ago.”

“Maybe not struggling,” he disagreed, “but certainly nothing like this.”

We were greeted by an arched, brick walkway, bathed in the orange lights that indicated each new shop, sending up a glow along the roof. Beige bricks became slightly orange, and green moss hung on for dear life around the top of the arch.

“I love this walkway,” I mumbled.

“Come here often?” Tom slipped his fingers between mine and gave my hand a squeeze.

“Occasionally. Depends on the company.”

“Think you might come back more often?”

“Depends on if you ask me to.” I was sure my voice wavered as I replied, my eyes not sure what part of his face to look at.

“You know I get pretty busy, right?”

I could feel my shoulders physically slump.

“I don’t say that to upset you.” Tom took my other hand.

Suddenly my mouth was dry, and my tongue too large for its home. My heart slammed around inside my ribcage, occasionally bouncing off my stomach. Jesus _fuck_ this was actually happening. It had been so long since I’d felt this; the tingling limbs, the brain of mush, and the sheer delight of it all.

“Why do you say it, then?”

“Because I need you to know that it’s busy, and it’s hectic, and it’s crazy, and sometimes I might disappear for a week, or two, or four at a time.”

I nodded, trying to swallow. “I’m okay with that.”

“You sure?”

“I am. I’m okay. I don’t want to rush straight into seeing someone every day, anyway. Probably get sick of you.” I jerked forward instead of rocking like I’d intended.

Before I even had a chance to worry about if I’d stood on toes, or done something else completely clumsy, he’d leant forward and kissed me. Once, twice, then three times his lips brushed over mine, biting down gently on my bottom lip. I tugged my left hand free of his and ran my hand up through his hair, pulling my body flush against his.

“I take it that was okay, then?” he mumbled, pulling back only long enough to ask a question, before kissing me again, a tongue drawn quietly across my top lip.

I laughed into his kiss. “Much better than waiting for the front doorstep.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not much, but it's something. I hope you enjoy it xo

I sat across the table from Rupert. One of our final meetings of the divorce proceedings, and all I could picture was Tom’s face when he finally pulled away from our first kiss. It had been a fortnight, but it had sat perfectly comfortable in my mind’s eye, available for recall at the drop of a hat.

“So, the house is sold. After the pay-out of all loans, each party is left with one-hundred thousand pounds…” a voice echoed through the chamber.

Nice enough to try and set myself up in a little place, I guessed. I would take that and absolutely not be bitter. Greener pastures and all. Tom had met with me for morning tea before I’d gone into the meeting. Needless to say, I was in a good place in life at the moment.

**

“How’d you go today?” Mum passed a bowl of potato over the dinner table.

I nodded. “Yeah, good. Tom rang, actually, this morning.”

“Oh yeah?” Dad looked at me.

“We had morning tea before the meeting. Then he went to work for the afternoon. It was nice.”

“I was talking about your Rupert business.”

“Oh, yeah, well, that’s fine. It’s all sorted. All gone through, I guess. A bit of money at the end, so.”

“Still.”

“It’ll be what it’ll be,” I assured Dad, grabbing his hand. “Onward and upward.”

**

“Michelle, you’ve got a guest!” Mum called up the stairs.

Since moving in with my parents, I felt like a kid again. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, really. But I did know that I enjoyed being back in the family fold again. I was in my old bedroom. It looked a little different now, but it was still a nice comfort that, after all the upheaval, I could come back to something to familiar and be okay.

“A guest?” I popped my head through my bedroom door.

“Yes.”

The old stairs creaked under me as I headed down to the front door. Dad’s voice floated in from the front yard. He was out there talking. To Tom.

“Hey.” I pushed the front door open and joined them in what there was of a little yard. Two rubbish bins kept each other warm, and weeds poked their way through cracks in the pavers, and a shin-high gate swung in the breeze if it wasn’t shut properly.

“Hey, Michelle.” Tom smiled. “Just came past to see how you went today.”

Dad smiled, patted me on the shoulder and left us alone. Though I imagine he hid just out of sight behind the front door.

“Did he just give you some sort of,” I tumbled my arms around, “talk?”

“He might have, yeah.” He rocked back and forth on the heels of his feet. “Did you go okay? Today, I mean, with everything.”

“I did, thank you.”

“Good, okay.” He nodded. “I just wanted to make sure, that’s all.” Without further ado, he made to walk away.

“Tom?”

He stopped and turned back to look at me. “Yeah?”

“Do you want to come in?”

He smiled. “I’d love to.”


	12. Chapter 12

There was nothing more domestic than tea and biscuits with my parents while the nightly news blared away at the background, Dad shouted at the politics, and Mum tutted her way around the kitchen. I offered to help, but was shooed away in favour of our guest, who sat quietly on the sunken part of the couch, which sent his knees up toward his chin.

‘How have you been, Thomas?’ Dad asked, not peeling his eyes away from the telly.

‘Very well, thank you. I had a few weeks away working on a project.’

‘You don’t say?’ Finally, Dad looked at me, then back to Tom. ‘What one was that?’

For the next half hour, Dad was enthralled with Tom’s story of work and descriptions of location shoots, studio shoots, and fill in shots out the backblocks of the studio. He spoke about his job with such love that he made the process sound rather enchanting, though I’m sure it wasn’t; he’d spoken often about the exhaustion of crawling into bed after a long day.

‘Do you want to stay for dinner, Thomas?’ Mum appeared in the doorway wearing Dad’s naked lady barbecue apron.

He smiled slowly. ‘Sure, I’d love that, thank you.’

@@@

‘You realise that my daughter is not yet divorced.’ Dad passed the bread basket across to Tom. The four of us were cramped around a small table in the dining area.

Mum, bless her, had gone to a tremendous effort at the last minute, whipped up a pasta dish and salad, and a bread basket. Tom thanked her profusely, which sent Mum’s blood pressure through the roof. I thought she was about to explode like an over extended balloon. The only possible way she could have been prouder would have been praise from the Queen herself. Actually, that might just kill her.

‘I’m aware of that, yes. I have no intention of doing her any harm, just being a good friend and seeing where that goes. I’m sure Michelle would agree?’ He looked to me for help, eyebrows raised just enough that they weren’t disappearing up into his hairline.

‘Agreed.’ I nodded. ‘Tom knows everything, we’ve been friends for some time now. I’ve told him as much as I possibly can about what’s happened and happening, and we’ll just see what happens.’

Dad did a bit of a half grunt, half scoff. I wasn’t sure what he made of the situation, but there weren’t any more questions about Tom’s intentions, which I was thankful for. Instead, we ate in comparative silence, topping up wine glasses as needed.

@@@

‘That was a little tense.’ Tom flung himself back on my bed, kicked off his boots and headed for the pillow.

The retreat to my bedroom was less about getting frisky and more about getting space alone to talk for a while. I pushed open my bedroom window. It overlooked a perfectly manicured backyard, a small wooden shed in the corner, and bird bath halfway down, surrounded by carpet daisies. The television clicked on to show us more of the same BBC channel as we were watching earlier.

‘It’s okay. It’ll be fine.’

‘Yeah. And I understand, everyone will be cotton wool-ing you for a little while anyway. Honestly, I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to. Should I just come out and say that?’

I crawled up next to Tom, dropping a head down on my own pillow. The bed was a tight squeeze of a double, with barely walking around the edge, and a wardrobe that would have been right at home in Beauty and the Beast slipped into the corner of the room.

‘I don’t think you need to say anything. We’ll do what we want to do, what we need to do, and we’ll be fine.’

‘I like your thinking.’

‘I don’t do too badly, sometimes.’

In the background, the television hummed a repeat at us. The same old tune, just on a different night. Still, we watched in silence, my hand clasped between Tom’s, and enjoyed each other’s company. It was simple – a bed in a bedroom like a pair of teenagers – but it was comfortable as well. It showed me that this was all we needed, and that thrilled me no end. There were no airs or pretences with what was happening, and I loved it.

‘Tom?’

‘Hmmm?’

‘Thank you for tonight.’

‘For what?’

‘For staying.’

He rolled his head toward me. ‘Will you let me stay again?’

‘If you like.’

He leant in to kiss me. ‘I would like that.’


End file.
